


Trick or Treat

by KentuckyFriedChilton



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fixing boat engines, Just trying to survive with minimal human contact, Living in the woods of Maryland, M/M, No FBI, No criminal profiling, Paranormal Romance, Will Graham is just a weirdo loner, and encephalitis probably, as much as possible, or need to be a human, still has nightmares though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 17:10:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12586688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KentuckyFriedChilton/pseuds/KentuckyFriedChilton
Summary: 'Prologue' to Awake or AsleepWill Graham is just a guy living in the woods of Maryland with a bunch of dogs and fixing boat engines for cash. Never worked for the FBI because that would be a terrible idea for someone as sensitive as he is. Recluse meets wendigo.Just a little thing I thought of this Halloween. ;-)





	Trick or Treat

The leaves are a fire that has overtaken the forest, raging out of control, causing no pain. Colors vivid as stained glass, without the burden of religion.  
  
Fall is no less than witnessing Death. The skeletons of the trees appeal to me. Naked and vulnerable.  
  
The sun is setting and it’s getting cold. Hardly knowing what I was wearing, I under-dressed, and my skin is stinging where the wind licks me. The tall weeds and grasses whistle beside the river and my heart shivers in unison, seems to whisper _lie down_.  
  
I don’t necessarily want to die, but I only plan lightly on living. I have dogs to take care of, some boat engines to fix, fish to catch if I feel like it, and that’s about it.  
  
The dogs all freeze in their tracks and turn their heads in unison toward something I can’t see. Herman plunges forward into the woods, barking. I yell for him to come. He ignores me. Not wanting the others to follow, I round them up and bring them back to the house. I get my rifle and head after Herman.  
  
Terriers tend to be fearless, and Herman is no exception. I’ve lost a few to coyotes over the years. I can hear distant barking. He’s gone deep into the woods. I call for him, to no avail, using the only word he ever consistently responds to:  
  
“Treat!”  
  
I head through the trees to the point where the river curves. The sun is below the horizon and in the fading light everything appears brown and orange and black.  
  
Herman barks, and my eyes dart to his form on the river bank. He is squared off with a sickly-looking stag. I squint as I draw closer, having forgotten my glasses. The stag is unusually dark, and its head is lowered as if it might charge.  
  
I yell, “Treat!”  
  
The stag turns to look at me. It rears up on its hind legs and stays there, posture startlingly humanoid, no longer a stag at all. I’m now close enough to see that it has the face of a man. His skin is dark grey and hairless, with a silvery sheen to it. His body is sinuous, nearly emaciated. His limbs are elongated and his fingers terminate in long claws. His eyes are silver-white.  
  
We stare at each other. I’m scared, but the being is so unusual that I can’t look away. He tilts his head slightly and sniffs the air, as if catching my scent. He smiles slightly, and for some bizarre reason I smile back. His voice is deep, when he finally speaks, “Treat?”  
  
Instinct takes over and I bolt, sprinting back to the house without checking to see if he’s giving chase. I hear the sound of claws on the wooden porch steps behind me as I open the door; I whip around, but it’s only Herman, his ears tucked back and tail between his legs. We go inside and I rest my rifle next to the door, wondering why it had not occurred to me to raise it at the monster.  
  
_Monster._ Is that what he is? It's an ugly word for something possessed of such otherworldly beauty.  
  
I lock the door and windows and turn off the interior lights, but leave the porch light on. The dogs settle down. I sit on my bed and wait. I entertain the idea that I imagined him. Lately, I’ve been having trouble sleeping, and I don’t always remember to eat.  
  
A shadow appears at the window. If he mounted the stairs, he did it silently. There is no mistaking the silhouette through the blind. There is no reasonable explanation. There’s a stag-man on my porch.  
  
He rings the doorbell. “Treat?”  
  
I almost laugh out loud, despite trembling with fear. The pile of sleeping dogs erupts in a cacophony of deafening barking. I struggle to remember the date. Could it be Halloween? Is he just an extreme weirdo in a costume?  
  
I wait in silence, not daring to move. The barking gradually decreases to whining. He knocks on the door three times, softly, politely. “Treat?”  
  
His tone is imploring. I stand up very slowly and with painstaking care tip-toe to the door. There is a small pane of glass set into the door and I can clearly see him standing there in the light, though I’m fairly sure he can’t see me. His expression is forlorn. “Are you hungry?”  
  
The words leave my mouth before I can process what I’ve done. He smiles again. “Hungry.”  
  
“If I give you your treat, will you please go home?”  
  
Whether he has a home or not, he smiles wider; I see his teeth gleam. “Give treat. Please.”  
  
I go to the kitchen and get an apple. I remove the fruit sticker, fully questioning my sanity, and shine it with a dish towel. Not wanting the smallest of my dogs to get out, I open the window instead of the door. My hand is shaking as I hold the apple out to him. He slowly takes it in one hand and my hand in the other. He leans down from his considerable height, angling his head to avoid scraping his antlers on the shingles. I think he’s going to bite me, but I don’t try to pull away. My breath catches as he gently kisses the back of my hand. He releases me and descends the steps, rejoining the darkness. I hear the crunch of the apple being bitten.  
  
I close the window and lock it, then retreat to my bed. I know you’re not supposed to feed a wild animal, let alone whatever he is. I feel as if I’ve done something bad, but my heart is pounding with excitement, and my hand feels warm where he touched me.  
  
As comfortable as I’ve become in my loneliness, I hope I’ll see him again.


End file.
